Poor Miss Maria slipped away. As she did so, she looked exactly like a crushed brown moth. In the passage she stopped, glanced furtively around her, and then, shocking to relate, put her ear to the key-hole. She felt both sore and angry; they were saying horrid things of Beatrice, and Miss Peters loved Beatrice.
Soon she went away, and burying her face in her little handkerchief, sobbed bitterly.
Inside the drawing-room, Mrs. Butler and Mrs. Gorman Stanley were holding awful conclave.
"You don't say, my dear, that she took the young man up to Miss Hart's private room? And who is Miss Hart? And what's all this fuss about? No, I'm glad Maria isn't here! I always tried to do my duty by Maria, and a scandal of this kind she must not listen to. What does it all mean, Mrs. Gorman Stanley? Is Beatrice Meadowsweet to be married on Tuesday, or is she not?"
"My dear friend, I can't tell you. There are all sorts of rumors about. I was at Perry's buying a yard of muslin, when Mrs. Morris came in. She had her mouth pursed up, and her voice perfectly guttural from bronchitis, so I knew she was keeping something in, and I made a point of going up to her. I said, 'you have got some news, Mrs. Morris, and you may as well out with it.' Then she told me."
"What? Mrs. Gorman Stanley, I trust you don't feel the draught from that window. I'll shut it if you like. But what—what did she say?"
"Well, she said some queer things. Nobody can quite make out whether Bee is to be married or not on Tuesday. Some say that Captain Bertram is married already, and that his wife is living in seclusion at the Bells'."
"At the Bells'? I'll go over at once and poke that mystery out. Maria! Maria! She's sure to to be eaves-dropping somewhere near. Maria, come here quickly, I want you."
"What is it, Martha?"
The little crushed moth put in a face, which disclosed very red eyes, at the door.